Broken Girl

When I was in middle school, if someone had asked me if I was going to college, I would have laughed. “No way,” I would have said. “I’m going to be a model.” Which was what I truly thought I would become. In fact, I believed this so much that maintaining my beauty became my obsession, and I made a conscious decision to be both bulimic and anorexic.

When I entered into high school, I continued this dream of becoming famous, except from that point on I wanted to be an actress instead of a model. I focused all of my attention on the theatre and, of course, boys. After being severely bullied in middle school, I also became rather aggressive towards anyone and everyone who irked me, which was 90% of my school. If a girl irritated me in the halls, I cussed her out, got in her face, threatened her, or flirted with her boyfriend just to instigate a bigger fight. I was drama incarnate, and I loved it.

Fast forward a few months into my freshman year. A girl I’d known since elementary school, let’s call her Pleather, found herself in my seat in choir. Little did Pleather know, I had been caught earlier that day for ditching in the theatre, and my theatre director was going to call my dad and inform him about my escapades in the lighting booth. Terrified did not begin to describe my mood. See, my father was an intimidating guy, and when he lost his crap, nothing could withstand his crap storm, if you catch my drift.

So, there I stood, petrified and beyond scared to go home, when I walked into my choir class and found sweet faced Pleather sitting in my seat. What I have failed to mention is a few days prior to my ditching fiasco, Pleather and I got into an argument over a doughnut. Yes, dear reader, you read that right. A DOUGHNUT. Somehow or other, Pleather insinuated that I was fat and didn’t need a doughnut. If you can remember from my previous paragraph, I was a suffering bulimic and anorexic, so this set off all kinds of fireworks within me. Needless to say, seeing Pleather in my chair on the day I found out my daddy was going to rip me a new one, was not the best combination.

“Get out of my chair!” I hollered at Pleather, along with some explicit language I’m sure.

Pleather must have said something heinous, or told me to go eat a salad, and I snapped. I straddled the girl and proceeded to use her face as my punching bag. I am NOT proud of this moment. It pains me to even write these words, but the story is important. I swear.

After a group of guys pulled me off of Pleather, I proceeded to redirect my rage on them, bruising them up and down their arms. It got so crazy that my choir director tried to restrain me, but when he did, I turned on him, too. When I finally realized all of the damage I had inflicted, it was too late. I was being escorted to the office, along with broken girl, Pleather. Threats of arresting me for assault and expulsion poured from the adult lips around me. What had I done? My life was officially over.

Then, something miraculous happened. Pleather raised her hand and spoke. “It was my fault, too,” she said. At least, I think that's what she said. It's been a while, y'all, so it's safe to say that she said something of the sort.

Those words changed everything somehow. Pleather showed me mercy, though I had not shown her an ounce of restraint. By the grace of God, my choir director didn’t push for my expulsion, either, and both Pleather and I were suspended for a few days.

So, why do I tell this story to my students when I discuss my college experience? What in the world does my fight with Pleather have to do with me going to college? Simple. When I assaulted Pleather, I was a mess, a desperately lost girl without direction, but after that moment, I began to turn my life around. If it wasn’t for Pleather’s mercy, I don't think I would have been accepted into college, let alone become an English teacher. My life would have been drastically different. This was a pivotal fork in my road, and it mattered which direction I took.

I tell this story for two reasons. One, to show my students how violence and drama are never the answer, and to express how quickly anger can escalate. Two, to show that a broken girl doesn't have to remain broken. There is always room for mercy, grace, forgiveness, and redemption.

There are countless stories that led up to my miraculous college experience. Stories of great sacrifice and love. Stories of unexplainable events coming together to make college a viable choice for me. But this is the story that began my journey onto a new path: a path of nonviolence.

I have not physically attacked another person since Pleather, and as a result, I stress the value of self-control in my classroom. Students need to hear stories about moments where adults messed up, and how those adults found their way back from the edge of chaos. If we can’t find it in our hearts to be real, how can we ever expect the next generation to be authentic?

Pleather, if you find yourself reading this one day, I am sorry for the pain I inflicted on you. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for your mercy. Thank you isn't enough.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4V3Mo61fJM